


City Lights

by b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s



Series: JongKey Oneshots [1]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, jongkey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 12:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20835248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s/pseuds/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s
Summary: In a moment of pure insanity Key thinks that maybe all of his dreams smell like this: Like sleep-soft hair and vanilla candles, like ink stains on warm skin. And maybe this is why he feels so empty – because his apartment doesn’t smell like any of those.





	City Lights

It’s three am when Key finally gives up on trying to fall asleep. The jetlag and the fucking tension in his body have turned him into a restless mess. He turns around in his cold bed that feels strange and empty and unfamiliar even though this is supposed to be his home. Key grabs a bottle of wine and a glass from the kitchen and sits back down on his mattress. He pours himself a decent glass, downs it in two big gulps.

His apartment is dark, and he can barely see his reflection in the tall bedroom windows. Outside, the sky is overcast, the brownish rust of clouds and polluted air lit by the city lights familiar. Key pours himself another glass of wine. He feels so lost and out of place. There is a small part of him that thought he would be happy to be home after working abroad for a few weeks. But the apartment smells unfamiliar, seems bigger, emptier, somehow, than he remembered it. Between two sips, Key tries to recall the last time he was really happy to be back home.

But what is home, really, with the lives they are leading? How many nights has he actually slept in this bed he calls his own? How many dreams, instead, has he dreamed in air plane seats and rental cars, on backroom couches, practice-room floors and in restaurant booths? Key thinks numbly that those dreams, spread far and wide, are small pieces of him, scattered and hidden, lost to him forever. Maybe that’s why he is feeling so very empty.

The first two glasses of wine help Key calm down, so he decides a third glass may put him to sleep.

It doesn’t.

The wine spins slow circles in Key’s blood and he tries to push down the things he sees every time he closes his eyes. It’s Fine. He just needs to sleep. He just needs to calm the fuck down and go to sleep.

But what Key does instead, and really, he blames the wine entirely, is pick up his phone and call Jonghyun. It is always hardest to keep his distance in these small hours of the night, when reality is fuzzy and impossible things seem just a little bit closer to reach. Key knows he should end the call before it’s too late.  
But he doesn’t.

Jonghyun picks up on the second ring. “Are you okay?”, is the first thing he says.

Key starts to cry. The tears just start flowing, unbidden, as soon as he hears Jonghyun’s voice, more familiar and comforting that the city lights, than his own bed.  
“Key, what happened? Shh, what happened?” Jonghyun sounds really worried. Key sobs pathetically and tries to say something, anything, doesn’t want Jonghyun to worry. But his throat is too tight, all he can do is hiccup into his phone. 

On the other end of the line he hears Jonghyun shift, floor boards creaking. “Are you at home? I’m coming over”, he says.

Key cries harder. God damnit, what the fuck is happening to him?

“It’s okay,” he finally croaks, “please don’t worry, I just couldn’t sleep and I…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, instead pours himself another glass of wine, swallows a painkiller with it because his chest hurts. He is making awesome decisions tonight.

“Talk to me, Key,” Jonghyun’s voice is sleep-soft and a little breathy. And Key wants to say: ‘What if I have lost too many pieces of myself in foreign places? What if there is not enough of me left?’ And Key tries really hard not to say: ‘I am so lonely and I miss you so bad, too bad, bad in ways I should not miss you.’ But all that crosses his lips are quiet sobs.

Key can hear Jonghyun telling Roo to stay and be good, a door clicking shut. There are city sounds in the background now. Key doesn’t stop Jonghyun, doesn’t say: ‘Hey, you don’t have to come over, please go back to sleep my friend.’ Instead, he downs another pain killer with more wine.

Great.

“Did you just get back from Paris?”, Jonghyun asks.

“Yeah.” Key has been working in Europe for two weeks, has the day off tomorrow before practice and promotions with the band pick back up.

A long string of simple questions follows, all about mundane things, things that Key can talk about even through the chaos in his mind. They have done this before, they both know what it means to lose yourself to worries and bad thoughts and sleepless nights.

It’s when Key has recounted everything he ate today (far too little), that the doorbell rings. Key sways dangerously as he gets up from the bed. Damnit. He sees stars, galaxies, black holes explode all around him, the world won’t stop spinning like crazy. He feels so light headed that he briefly wonders if he has passed out and is dreaming all of this while lying in a puddle of his own vomit on the bed room floor. The swirling of light and color won’t give it a fucking rest, but he makes it to the door somehow, leans heavily against it before pulling it open.

Jonghyun’s face, half hidden by a black cap and mask, is such a stark focal point that reality comes crashing back in around Key. He keeps his gaze trained on Jonghyun’s eyes, uses them as an anchor.

Jonghyun takes one look at Key and wraps him in a tight hug without saying a word, kicking the door closed behind them. Key buries his face in Jonghyun’s neck, inhales deeply, fucking cries all over his friend, soaking his pretty red shirt.

“I’m happy you’re back,” Jonghyun whispers. He lets his cap and mask fall to the floor with a thud, toes off his shoes, all while keeping Key wrapped out in his arms. Gentle fingers find the soft skin of Key’s nape and Key’s breath hitches embarrassingly. He lifts his head, looks into Jonghyun’s eyes that are almost black in the light of the hallway. The embers of the city lights glows in them.

In a moment of pure insanity Key thinks that maybe all of his dreams smell like this: Like sleep-soft hair and vanilla candles, like ink stains on warm skin. And maybe this is why he feels so empty – because his apartment doesn’t smell like any of those. Key draws in Jonghyun’s familiar scent, tries to swallow around the strange pain in his chest.

There is a softness around Jonghyun’s edges that only ever clings to him in the small hours of the night, as if sleep has blurred his contours just enough that Key could mold himself to them.

Jonghyun walks them to the living room, sees the wine and the painkillers on the nightstand in the bedroom on the way. He pulls Key down onto the couch, gives him a concerned glance.

“How many did you take, Key?”, he asks. Key holds up three shaking fingers and Jonghyun breathes a sigh of relief. He crushes Key to his chest, wraps his arms around him so tightly the world gets even blurrier than it already is. They stay like that for a while, Jonghyun’s grip relaxing a little. Jonghyun hums quietly, sweet things, familiar melodies, stroking his hands up and down Key’s back.

“It’s so strange,” Jonghyun whispers into Key’s hair, “every time you are gone it’s almost as if I can feel you, too far away, as if I exist in two places at once.”

Key draws him in closer, his eyes burning. He kisses the warm skin of Jonghyun’s neck, presses his nose against the pulse there, buries his hands in Jonghyun’s hair that is, inexplicably, a different color than it was when he left.

“I missed you so much,” Key says. The wine and the painkillers are starting to turn his blood to lead. The restlessness is gone, replaced by a tired sense of finally being able to let his guard down, to rest.

Key lends Jonghyun one of his old shirts, they leave the rest of their clothes on his bedroom floor. Jonghyun slips into bed, stretches out his arm for Key to rest his head on. As the covers settle around them, his bed doesn’t feel unfamiliar, the apartment not strange and lonely at all. Key presses his face into Jonghyun’s chest, inhales deeply, lets himself be wrapped in a tight, safe embrace.

“Do you think our dreams are little shards of us?”, Key asks into the quiet.

Jonghyun takes his time to answer, gently strokes his hands down Key’s back as he thinks. “I think they may be, yeah,” he says.

Key wants to say: ‘I have tucked all my dreams into your nape, I have whispered all of my secrets into your hair, I have left my heart between your fingertips.’ But what he says instead is: “Please,” and he presses his lips to Jonghyun’s, wraps one leg around Jonghyun’s hip to draw him closer.

Jonghyun buries his hands in Key’s hair and kisses back. Jonghyun’s fingers wrap around Key’s nape, hold him close while his lips press unbearably light against Key’s mouth. Key feels his breath hitch, a small, surprised sound that tumbles into the space between them.

Key’s mind is a rush of “it’s been too long” and “please, more” and “yes, yes” as he touches Jonghyun’s cheek, the skin soft and warm under his fingertips. Jonghyun sits up, slides his palms down Key’s waist, mumbles “so tiny, you need food,” against his lips, grips his hips tights and lifts Key into his lap with ease. Key gets up on both knees, presses closer and touches their noses together, trying to catch his breath. He noses at the warm spot where Jonghyun’s neck meets his shoulder, touches the tip of his tongue to the salty skin there and tastes a lost dream, another tiny piece of himself he gave Jonghyun long ago.

The city lights, rust red and familiar, spill onto Jonghyun’s skin, throw his features into stark relief. Key thinks “beautiful” and “mine”, whisper’s Jonghyun’s name, words of praise spilling over his lips. They haven’t had a chance to be close in so long, haven’t dared to steal time alone in forever. Even now there is a part of Key that screams at him to pull back, run away, push Jonghyun away before he gets hurt, before everything gets even harder. Because of course there is no future in which this ends happily ever after, is there?

But instead, he strips them of their shirts, licks the rust red city lights off Jonghyun’s shoulders, his chest, the ripples of his stomach. Their kisses are deep, but unhurried, slow and gentle like these secret hours of the night, stolen from a harsher reality.

Key should probably be embarrassed, because there are pale scars on the inside of his thighs, all parallel, and Jonghyun’s fingers find them as they always do. Key should be more careful, because there are stories on his skin and in his heart. And maybe he would be, but this is Jonghyun, who already holds so many of his dreams, who keeps so many pieces of Key safe.

Key feels tiny in Jonghyun’s arms, lets himself be kissed until he is breathless, restless, everything too tight too hot too much. Jonghyun buries his teeth in the skin of Key’s nape, sobs words of love and awe. They come apart together, just as slow and gentle as the night. They come apart wrapped around each other, sharing a single breath and a single heartbeat.

After, they lie impossible close, whispering about everything that happened while they were apart. Mundane things and important things, small details and memories so faint they are almost forgotten. Key can feel his pulse slowing, his eyelids heavy.

He would never admit it out loud, but sometimes, in moments like this, Key wants to run away. Just grab Jonghyun, the dogs and a few nice shirts and leave everything behind. Because he doesn’t want to do his best all the time. He doesn’t want to have to. All he wants is this: To wake up to the confused tap-tap of Jonghyun’s bare feet in the kitchen (because it’s hard to make coffee before you’ve had coffee), to get up every morning and place a steaming hot cup into Jonghyun’s hands so their fingers touch.

But he knows, deep down, even in moments like this, that they have been doing this for too long to simply leave it all behind. The industry is too much a part of them, lessons ingrained upon them so young and so often that they have grown around vital organs. They are part of them, integral and pulsing with life, giving strength and courage and a will to endure, to always strive to be better, though taking much in return. Come morning they will go back to working hard and trying their very best and pretending that they don’t feel lost and confused and stupid and scared and hopelessly in love behind glassy skin and artificially blue eyes. The realization makes something in Key’s chest rip and he briefly wonders if scars can hold together a heart for very long.

Key tries to push all of these thoughts back, concentrates instead on the rust red glow of light on Jonghyun’s sleep-soft skin, his contours fuzzy so Key can mold himself to them. He draws in a breath that smells like home, familiar and safe, like the truest parts of him, like all his dreams, and tucks away another piece of himself in the warmth of Jonghyun’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in the middle of the night with lots of coffee in my blood and Jonghyun's album "She Is" playing in the background. If you find the time, I would love to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading <3


End file.
